


Something Old, Something Borrowed

by msbeeinmybonnet (beeinmybonnet)



Series: (like wines)  we intertwine [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen's Lucky Coin, F/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 08:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4515765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeinmybonnet/pseuds/msbeeinmybonnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Trevelyan returns from her trip to Ferelden with Cullen, she pays one of the smiths a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Old, Something Borrowed

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the fact that Cullen's lucky coin seemed to vanish after he gave it to the Inquisitor. (Which is a bummer.)

There was nothing special about the day the Herald came into the smithy, other than the lateness of the hour. The blacksmiths had finished for the day, leaving the building quiet and calm, just as Spijker preferred it. However, of all the smiths scattered about Skyhold, he couldn't fathom the Herald to have any personal use for a whitesmith like himself. Nevertheless, one day she was standing there, as fair as moonlight and lacing her fingers together like a young girl. Then again, the Herald _was_ a young girl when it came down to it, wasn't she?

"Your Worship," Spijker said, putting away his tools and giving her his whole attention. The Herald wet her lips and glanced down at her hands.

"Smith Spijker," she spoke in lilting Marsher tones, so familiar and nostalgic to his ears, "I asked around and was told that you were the one I should go to if I wanted something delicate made." That explained how she had known to come when he'd be alone, then.

"I am no silversmith, your Worship, but I guess I am defter than Harritt," Spijker agreed. The blacksmith made incredible armour but seemed physically incapable of crafting a knife shorter than 15 inches.

The Herald nodded and reached for something in her pocket. "Could you make a pendant out of this?" she asked and handed him the small item.

Spijker looked at his palm and frowned lightly. It was a coin, a Fereldan silver from King Maric's time, worn but the embossing still perfectly legible. It was such an insignificant object that it had to have a deeper meaning. 

But Spijker was just a simple smith and as such would not dream of interrogating the Herald of Andraste just to sate his own curiosity.

"The easiest way would be to drill a hole at the top, your Worship."

"No!" The Herald seemed to startle herself as well with her near-panicked cry. She swallowed hard and continued, in a much calmer voice, "I don't want it altered or damaged in any way. I've tried wrapping it in leather cord, but it just kept sliding off. I was thinking that maybe wire..."

It did leave Spijker a little stunned to see the Herald this way. Usually she was so composed, serene in her kindness and helpfulness, seeming more like a benign spirit than a creature of flesh and blood. A perfect myth, their Herald and Inquisitor. Now, she was nothing but a young woman, hopeful yet unsure, with a tiny wish she wasn't sure could actually come true. It was jarring but to Spijker, it only made her all the more remarkable.

"Aye, I think that could be arranged, your Worship," he said and his heart twinged at the look of pure joy on her face.

"Really? That would be marvellous. How long would it take? A week? More?" 

Spijker had to swallow an incredulous laugh. Was she truly guessing at the time, or did she think that her request would not take highest priority? He coughed and replied, "The day after tomorrow, at the very latest, your Worship."

Her eyes widened and then a smile started to spread on her lips, before she bit her lower one to keep it back. She looked at the coin in his hand and her pale eyes sparkled. Spijker had a hunch what this was all about, and also about _whom_ , if the rumors had a grain of truth to them. 

"Thank you so very much, Smith Spijker."

"Your Worship, this is an honour."

With a last glance at her precious coin, she dropped a hasty curtsy before shyly tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear and leaving without meeting his eyes. 

Watching her, Spijker quietly wondered if the Herald's true power laid in endearing everyone to her rather than controlling the Rifts, but then shook his head and put his work aside to start on the Herald's commission.

He started with making molds for the wires, and as they set, he created an alloy of gold and silverite which he then poured into them. He would have continued his work had it not been so late, so he put out the last of the fire and let the metal cool over night.

He brought the coin with him to his room and placed it under his pillow, where he could be certain it would not be stolen or lost by some hapless soul. Some things can simply not be replaced, and even a blind man could tell this coin was one of them. 

The next morning he finished the work he began last night, carefully shaping a round frame to which he attached clamp-like loops of wire. With the coin safely encased and a bail attached, he soldered all the joints for strength and after a moment of thought, he used the thinner wires to wrap around the seams. He was no artist but an attempt at elegance was the very least he could do for the Herald.

His fellow smiths were curious and inquisitive over his unusual project, but Spijker waved them away and kept quiet. The Herald would not have come so late at night if she was comfortable with everyone knowing, and he would not betray her trust.

Finished by midday, Spijker wondered how to proceed as he wrapped the coin-turned-pendant in thick, protective cloth. He could deliver it personally, but he did not know where the Herald might be and Skyhold was a vast place. He could send a messenger, but nothing started gossip like secret packages. 

An idea came to him, and while it could end in pain if it backfired, he thought it was worth a try. Luckily Seeker Pentaghast was willing to put down her sword to listen to a smith with only a glare and near-civil grunt. 

"The Herald asked me to make this for her, Messere," Spijker said and held out the small package. Seeker Pentaghast raised a sharp eyebrow which prompted him to continue, "I got the impression she didn't want this to be common knowledge, Messere."

The eyebrow lowered into a frown and she reached out to take the bundle. She did not even hesitate to unfold it enough to peer inside, and while Spijker might normally consider that rude, he was well aware that the Seeker was a very protective friend of the Herald. It was the reason he approached her, after all.

For the half-second she looked at the coin, a multitude of emotions flitted across Seeker Pentaghast's face. It was impossible to pick out all of them, but Spijker could detect surprise and fondness, and so let the matter rest.

Seeker Pentaghast folded the package neatly and held it securely in her hand, then left with a curt "Very good," and a nod. Trusting the Seeker to deliver the coin to the Herald, Spijker returned to the smithy and his usual work.

\---

From that day on, the Herald was always seen wearing her pendant, whether it was on top of her clothes or under her armour, hanging from a gold chain of much more elegant make.

There was also the story of how the Commander had nearly tripped over a rug the first time he saw her with it, which was popular enough to always be in circulation at the tavern, but Spijker had never paid gossip much heed.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Con-crit is always welcome.


End file.
